


He Remembers

by hearmerory



Series: Change of Address [7]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autistic Zuko, Burns, Child Abuse, Eye Trauma, Hospitals, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Medicine, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Past Child Abuse, Traumatic Eye Injury, Zuko whump, Zuko's Childhood (Avatar), Zuko's Scar (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26610106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearmerory/pseuds/hearmerory
Summary: Zuko remembers the night he got his scar.It’s pretty hard to forget.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Change of Address [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928572
Comments: 28
Kudos: 415





	He Remembers

He remembers the shouting that made everything worse. The rough hand clenching his jaw and forcing eye contact. The too bright florescent lights flickering in the back of his head. The echoing of the party they’d just left still too loud in his ears.

He remembers Azula’s laugh as Father’s shouting got louder, words indistinguishable as his brain shut down.

He remembers the whining, grunting noise that ripped from his throat as he tried to curl in on himself, tried to rock back and forth and back and forth, tried to cover his ears, tried to close his eyes.

He remembers the slap. The punch cracking his jaw. The kicks to his ribs after he hit the floor.

He remembers the pain. The scalding agony as heat tore through flesh and into bone. The bubbling of skin.

He remembers the bright, indescribable light at the back of his eye before it went dark.

He remembers the shouted insults, the begging that came in his voice but didn’t sound like him.

He remembers the cold of the kitchen floor as he knelt, the strength of the hand in his hair, keeping him still.

He remembers the wave after wave of horror and betrayal and pain that broke through every barrier in his mind.

He remembers the screams.

He remembers waking up in the dark, sprawled face down on the grass in a park he didn’t know.

He remembers the flip phone that wasn’t his, programmed with a single number and clutched in his fist.

He remembers retching, over and over, as he gathered enough sense to bring the phone to the ear that wasn’t ringing, that wasn’t _burning_.

He remembers barely croaking out the plea for help as the dial tone ended and the sounds of a tea shop burst through the silence.

He remembers being picked up, seconds or hours later, and cradled to a warm body.

He remembers waking up again to white walls and the smell of disinfectant, and the fresh agony of gentle hands pulling dead flesh away from his face.

He remembers the feeling of completely exposed nerves, of skin, distorted and thick and red, over half of his face.

He remembers the bandages being changed, and the terror that seized him when he opened his eye and was met with vague, grey shapes.

He remembers waking up, over and over, and not knowing where he was.

He remembers people holding him down as he thrashed, screaming for his father to take him back, begging for his mother to come home.

He remembers waking up and barely being able to speak. He remembers doctors speaking over his horse whispers, telling him about torn vocal chords from screaming, and smoke inhalation from being too close to the heat that destroyed his face.

He remembers throwing up, and getting his hospital bed dirty, and begging them not to hurt him again. Swearing that he didn’t mean to make a mess. Pleading with them for mercy.

He remembers recognizing Uncle, at some point between the third and fourth surgery, and begging him to stay.

He remembers the flip phone, conveniently left for him on the wheeled table across his knees, suddenly vibrating with a call, just as everyone else left the room. Almost as though the caller knew he was alone.

He remembers reaching for it with shaky fingers and answering.

He remembers the cold, familiar voice echoing down the line. _You will learn respect, Zuko, and suffering will be your teacher. You may return when you no longer disappoint me. Prove yourself worthy of my notice. Until then, you will not contact me. You will not contact my daughter. You will not step foot in my house, or in my town. You will tell no one. Do you understand me?_

He remembers his voice trembling with fear and pain as he stuttered his responses, drilled into him from birth. _I’m sorry, Father. I am your loyal son. I meant no disrespect. I will do better. I’ll be good._

He remembers the line going dead, the low tone too similar to the ringing in his mutilated ear for comfort. He remembers keeping the phone, his last connection to his family. He remembers not telling Iroh about the call.

He remembers dry heaving over the side of his bed and seeing blood stain the ground in a fine mist. He remembers Uncle’s panicked voice summoning doctors. He remembers more needles in his arm, and the floaty, pained numbness he’d grown familiar with.

He remembers telling everyone he tripped. That Father had nothing to do with it.

He remembers being taught how to change the bandages, hot and tight and wrong against his skin.

He remembers being driven back to Uncle’s apartment in silence.

He remembers blisters bursting, and more skin disintegrating as it healed and failed to heal. He remembers looking in the mirror and not being able to move his face far enough to fully voice the scream of rage and disappointment and fear.

He remembers how the only facial expression that didn’t send bolts of agony through his jaw was a scowl.

He remembers the first few days.

He does not remember the weeks after, where all he did was lie in the bed in Uncle’s spare room, staring at the ceiling and muttering his father’s words, hands tapping and flapping exhaustedly against the sheets.

_You will learn respect._

_You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher._

_Suffering will be your teacher._

_You deserved this._

_Freak._

_Worthless._

_Failure._

_Disgusting._

_Shameful._

_You deserve this._

_Suffering will be your teacher._

_You will learn respect._

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up less intense than I thought it would be.
> 
> I want to warn you that the next installment in this series is really dark. Please check the ratings, tags and archive warnings. The installment after that will be back to the standard level of angst in this series.


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